Ceremonials
by SWBloodwolf
Summary: There was no particular reason as to why it began, but Sherlock had thought it had been deleted, all of it. The first night in which it happened was as unreal and incomprehensible as the dream itself.


**Ceremonials**

There was no particular reason as to why it began, but Sherlock had thought it had been deleted, all of it. The first night in which it happened was as unreal and incomprehensible as the dream itself.

She was there, in front of him. Exactly how she use to be, all pink and gold and glittering. Her yellow dress and long blond hair, falling with grace and dancing with her twirls and smiles. He followed her, running as she led him through the forest, green and familiar. Her bare feet silent on the ground, smile flashing as he followed.

Sherlock looked down for a moment so as not to fall. Looking up again, she was gone. He was suddenly afraid and lost. Where was he? It was dark and cold and he cried out, both in dream and reality.

Waking up, Sherlock found the sheets beaten into submission around his legs and eyes on the verge of tears. The summer breeze from the window kissed his sweat layered skin with the gentleness of a mother. It was comforting. He lay completely still, shocked; that time was gone. He had deleted it, he had deleted her.

A week later she was there once more.

They were in a field, meadow? field. His shirt billowed in the breeze in time with the sway of her yellow dress.

'Why are you here?' he demanded.

She laughed with life...life.

'Why are you here Sherlock?' her eyes twinkled and he went rigid at the use of his name.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets defensively, 'It's _my_ dream.'

She reached out a hand; she glowed in the bright summer sun.

Sherlock moved forward, hesitantly raising his arm in response. His hand shock as he made to grab hers, she vanished.

One second she was there, the next...

Confused about what to do or what he had been planning to do with his arm, it dropped to his side.

Waking up on the couch he calmed his breathing and listened to the sounds of John in the kitchen.

A case presented itself for the next few days, sleep was minimal and Sherlock was glad. He relaxed as hidden memories were once more pushed down deep as the chase of the puzzle took up the forefront of his mind.

When the case was over, Sherlock was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep without disturbance. But he was admittedly scared. The dreams were what kept him awake; he didn't want to see her again, to feel it again.

John growled, telling him to eat 'then go to bloody bed and stop being an idiot!'

Sherlock ate then sat in the chair reading, well at least attempting to for a better half of an hour. His eyes refused to focus and his brain protested to any more incoming information. Eventually Sherlock gave up the fight and fell into bed. He didn't dream and woke early and smug that he had bested the dreams. Still feeling the effects of the week's case, Sherlock changed into pyjama pants and slipped back under the covers.

He woke up on the grass, grass that was so green and cold against his body and the smell of fresh earth attacked his senses. Sitting up quickly he jumped when he saw her sitting next to him. She looked sad now, so sad. Her hair swayed softly around her face, he eyelashes contrasted enchantingly against her pale complexion.

Sherlock turned away, looking down the green hill on the top of which they were sitting. He was ensnared by the silence.

She shrunk into herself more, her chin rested on her arms that themselves rested on her raised knees. She was looking at him now and he was startled by her eyes; electric blue with flecks of green, vibrant like an exotic planet, relentlessly critiquing his reactions, studying him.

'Concentrate', is all she says before standing and once more proffering her delicate hand. A gush of wind, swept around them and their hair was tussled in opposing chaos. He felt the wind was trying to push him towards her, encouraging him to connect.

Her smile slowly faded and he quickly went to reach for her but it was too late. Once again he was left alone and now only dreading the moment when he woke up and was left with that horrible feeling of regret in the pit of his stomach.

He stumbled out into the kitchen, simply starring at the kettle for a moment before his body began to move automatically. John studied him quietly, he had heard.

Sherlock ignored him. It wasn't John's fault Sherlock could never tell him or anyone for that matter. Sherlock smiled, a smile that said; '_I would tell you if I could John, but I can't because it's hard and I don't understand it.'_

John smiled in return, one that read, 'its _fine Sherlock, its all fine. If you're ever ready or need to...'_

Both sat at the situated table between the early morning sun that shinned through the windows of the living room. It was peaceful as they read their newspapers quietly with intervals of drinking tea and small making small comments to each other.

However Sherlock's mind was uncontrollably elsewhere.

The dreams don't come back until a month later. Just when Sherlock was beginning to think it all past, she returned. This time, he was going to take control; the only solution was to stand and fight.

The forest was brought to life with streams of sun filtering down to the moss and leaf covered floor. The trees moved gently in the breeze and Sherlock turned, looking through the forest for her. She appeared behind him and he slowly twisted towards her. She simply looked then began to present her hand, Sherlock moved. He quickly killed the distance between them and grasps her hand between both of his. She smiles at him with...pride?

Sherlock doesn't say anything and for a moment the two simply stare at each other, her hands cold but shockingly smooth between his two larger ones. She holds his gaze as she begins to slowly walk backwards, he lets her led him.

They walk hand in hand, silently. Sherlock frantically tries to figure it all out as she balances along fallen trees and takes him through the raw nature of the forest. She climbs up an old log and let's go of his hand, Sherlock panics and turns to look up at her when she jumps.

'Sherlock!'

She spreads her arms and he catches her. Laughing to herself, Sherlock slowly places her back onto the earth. She lunges forward with a smile a places her hands over his eyes; he leans back in shock as his world is suddenly turned to darkness.

'No!' he shouts at her but then his awake.

Sherlock sits up in bed with a frustrated shout; he didn't want to be awake. He didn't want her to go, to leave.

A case keeps him awake for three nights. This time however, Sherlock is furious and John walks around on tiptoes, terrified of what's going on with his flatmate. After the fourth day, breakthrough and the guilty women who drowned her child is brought to justice.

The case strangely unsettles Sherlock, he felt a sickening twist in his stomach the whole time his brain was working the puzzle. Sherlock frown's as he falls asleep, trying to find an answer as to why the death of the child made him want to cry like a boy.

She grabbed his hand and rubbed back and forth with her thumb. The simple act of comfort helped to calm him and he looked to her. The sad smile held her face once more. He walked and she followed. They never let go of each other's hands. Sherlock didn't know where he was going but was only glad she was coming with him.

Suddenly in front of them was a cross. Two branches, purposefully tied to form the symbol.

Sherlock opened his mouth but no words came out, '_no, this...' _he dropped her hand and went down on his knees with the onslaught of intense burning pain. _No, no, no! He deleted this, he deleted all of this. How can this be happening? Why is his mind torturing him like this?!_

Fingers curled into his hair and he bent his head, taking shaky breaths.

'What do you want from me?' he whispered then threw his arms around her legs. He came to weeping.

Everything came flooding back; the door in his mind palace which he hadn't even known to exist was flung open without mercy_. Look at what you did, _it said. Sherlock lay in his bed and continued to cry, even if he wanted to stop, he couldn't. Her voice echoes in his head, that one word above the rest, _concentrate...Sherlock, concentrate._

He does, and he knows what he has to do.

He leaves early, a note for John so his friend isn't concerned as to where his gone.

"Borrowing" a car from Mycroft, Sherlock drove out of London. Upon arrival he smiled at the green hill and the edge of the moss covered forest behind the stones.

He walked until he found hers. Sherlock slowly sat down; the grass was so green against his new clothes.

He laughed and began.

'You know if I could, I would do cartwheels in your honor. You would have laughed. I remember you now, always dancing on tip toes'. He pulled at the grass in front of his crossed legs, 'I don't know why, but you were my only friend back then. I didn't get to tell you then but I appreciate it. I umm, I didn't realise how alone I was until you came along'. His eyes threatened with tears but he smiled, 'They say you don't know what you've got till it's gone, I did. You were my friend and you were beautiful.' He sniffed, pulling at the grass between his fingers.

'When you left far, far too soon, I was lost and the drugs...but that's all in the past now. Now I have John. I got past the drugs. I didn't realise it was you there with me through it all, telling me to concentrate.' He smiled at her with pride. 'You were always good for me, I don't know why I want to apologise but, I'm sorry. You were gone too soon. And I didn't say goodbye.'

Sherlock looked up towards the forest and shook his head at himself. 'I ran. Into that forest, oh god how I ran, they tried to stop me but...and then I wasn't there to say goodbye. I was a coward you see and afraid and I ran away from it all. I forgot you, which I should never have done. You deserve better than that. I didn't keep you alive but you were still always there. You helped to make me the man I am today...thank you'.

Sherlock wiped the silent tears that had begun to fall. 'I guess this is my own secret ceremonial in the grave yard...I'm sorry'. With that he stood and walked away, letting his tears fall as he left.

That night he stood on that hill and watched her dance. She saw him and waved, Sherlock waved goodbye in return. She beamed at him and faded.

For a while Sherlock sat on the hill next to her gravestone. He remembered now, he went through it all. Their years together and how happy he had been, and how happy he felt now. An invisible weight was lifted from his conscious and he could once more concentrate.


End file.
